Kill Them All
by angelmira1982
Summary: Three words that broke John's heart...


_"Kill them all."_

John never thought three words would have the power to break something inside him. The three of them - him, Finch and Shaw - stood on a deserted street in the middle of the night. Harold's shoulders were slumped, as if he single handedly carried the weight of the world.

 _"If they harm Grace in any way... Kill them all."_

The man who had never seen violence as a solution gave the orders to slaughter people. Harold was ready to trade himself for the love of his life. Funny, how John suddenly understood that he himself stepped out of the line. He should have never developed feelings for the older man. It was obvious Harold would never return them.

John was shot a lot of times. He had been almost dying once or twice and Harold never took a gun into his hand to protect him. He always went after John, but never to avenge him. Harold Finch had only one person in his life who had the power to change him into a man he wasn't. The person he loved the most - Grace Hendricks.

It hurt.

John averted his eyes and headed away.

"Hey, where do you think you're going?" Shaw yelled after him.

John was aware he mumbled something like food. It was the only rational decision Shaw would be happy with. She was a simple girl, who preferred simple things in the right order.

* * *

Dinner was a silent affair broken only by Shaw and Harold's planning for the next day. No one mentioned the containers of Vietnamese food - Harold's favorite comfort food. John busied himself with cleaning his gun arsenal. He nodded to let them know he understood his own role in the plan. John didn't eat. He wasn't hungry anyway.

Later that night John stood by the window watching the illuminated street below. He wouldn't be able to sleep. On his way for their dinner he stopped at two of his stashes for guns that John had hidden around town.

Silence in the apartment was broken by Harold's footsteps. "I couldn't sleep."

John didn't need to listen to the reasoning. He couldn't sleep either if the love of his life was in danger somewhere in the city. John knew the feeling very well. He felt it when Root kidnapped Harold. He felt it when Harold disappeared on them in the middle of a crowded street.

As if on reflex, John's eyes traveled quickly over Harold. Taking in his disheveled hair, his white t-shirt, his black trousers. He went back to Harold's worried expression and that was when John averted his eyes to the street. He didn't want to think about Harold's face bathed in the soft light of a streetlamp.

The helplessness had to be killing Harold. It went without saying that John and Shaw would do anything in their power to get Grace back unharmed. After all she was an innocent victim in this game. John was more scared what would happen later. They would get Grace back, but they would lose Harold again. This time he would be in the hands of their enemies.

"I know you don't agree with me, John." Harold said softly. "But there is no other option."

John knew that much. People do anything to save their loved ones. He didn't need to be persuaded. Grace Hendricks had to be saved.

As much as John wanted to agree with Harold, he was unable to say a word because his throat clamped. He couldn't explain himself, so he stayed silent. He needed to remember his place. He was the hired help. An employee. That thought left an uncomfortable tingling in his spine.

Somewhere along the way their relationship evolved from employment to companionship. Through their years a companionship turned to friendship. On John's side the friendship turned to love. On Harold's probably to partnership in crime.

"Please, say something! You didn't say a word the whole evening."

John heard the desperation in the man's voice, in that statement. He tried to think about something reassuring. Something that was Harold's top priority. After all he was hired to do this man's bidding. He glanced back at Harold. This man wanted to hear only one thing.

"John?"

"We'll get her back," John allowed his vocal cords to finally say hoarsely. As soon as the words were out, John's stomach twisted. He would do that for Harold. He would take Grace Hendricks to the nearest airport, give her her new identity and then he would go back. He would turn every stone in his path to get Harold back if it was the last thing he would do.

"Oh. I-"

John ignored that Harold's shoulders slumped even more, as if Harold was disappointed in his answer. John had no idea what the man wanted him to say. What else he could offer? He turned back to a deserted street.

"May I stay here?"

John pretended his stomach didn't drop to the floor after the question. He didn't hear a vulnerable tone of Harold's voice. No. It was his imagination. Harold probably felt too nervous to go to bed. He needed not to be alone. Shaw was already asleep, so the solution was only John.

John pointed to the sofa by the wall. Safest spot in that room. Harold couldn't be seen from any window. He was far enough from the main entrance if they were in danger. John felt Harold's eyes on him. It was like standing under the onslaught of ants, but he didn't say a word. He had at least something to focus on. Fighting the natural responses of his body was distracting enough and he didn't have to think about the next day.

* * *

Harold sat in the darkened apartment watching John; he could palpably feel their disconnection. Something between him and John was broken and he was scared to death that things would stay that irreparably broken for the rest of his life. If he had only mere hours, he wanted to spend them in the company of one person who meant the world to him.

Harold knew he had hurt both John and Sameen when he disappeared on them. That was one of his first mistakes. It was only fair they were both weary of him, but in all his good intention he had forgotten how much trust meant to John.

Harold now understood. He should have done things differently. From the first moment Harold had trusted John, he should have let the man get Grace out of the States and somewhere safe under a new alias. Another irreparable damage.

He had a second chance when John discovered Grace, but no. Harold was too overconfident. Now, they were all paying their price. Maybe John started to finally see him as a human being, not some higher entity who deserved his unconditional loyalty.

Harold saw the sign when they found him tonight on a doorstep to their safe house. John had said his name. After Harold's speech about Grace's safety, John only walked away like he wasn't anything more than his employee. The worst thing Harold couldn't stand was that impassive, expressionless face. They had all these years together that Harold now could read John almost like one of his favorite books.

He knew every micro-expression on John's face, all the slightest nuances of John's voice, but he never saw him this- there was a word, but Harold never wanted to even think about associating it with John. _Dead._ Harold never saw John looking this dead inside.

Harold had casted worried glances after John when his friend, his partner had abandoned them by the safe house. Miss Shaw assured him that John would be back and Harold trusted her judgment. He was confident in his knowledge that John would never desert them when they needed him the most.

Unsurprisingly, John came back that evening with Vietnamese take away and a bag full of guns. Without any word Ms. Shaw offered Harold his portion. All the things he preferred. John always paid attention to his tastes. Sameen had the rest. There was no food for John. John never ate Vietnamese cuisine. He just left them at the kitchen table and started to clean his guns.

Harold discussed some possibilities they could encounter next day with Sameen, but again he was confident in his friends' abilities. Priority was getting Grace out of the country to the Europe. If he had done that a long time ago, they wouldn't been in this horrible mess now.

Harold tried to stay in guest bedroom and sleep, but he wasn't even able to close his eyes. Grace was somewhere in a city held prisoner. At this point Harold didn't mind if Greer told her the truth about him still being alive. It wouldn't change a thing.

The more pressing issue was John's silence. Ms. Shaw left for her bedroom shortly after the dinner. She nodded in John's direction. There were only two bedrooms. One was hers, the other one Harold's. It was an unwritten law John would stay in the living room keeping watch. Those two communicated between themselves only by a series of grunts and nods without any problems.

After some time Harold couldn't stand it in his bed any longer. He thought they would have time to resolve their problems. Conversation wasn't their strongest suit, but he was confident John would be more inclined to talk without Ms. Shaw as a witness.

He was wrong.

Without Ms. Shaw, they didn't have a buffer between them. John took his duty too seriously and almost didn't pay him any attention. Even though Harold felt alone most of his life before he discovered Nathan and then later without Grace and his dead best friend, he had never felt the level of loneliness he did now as he stood near John Reese.

Harold tried to explain himself, but somewhere in the middle of his own sentences he understood his own foolishness. John knew they had to prevent innocent people from dying for their cause. There was no question about it.

John was only distancing himself from emotions because he knew very well they were at the end of their journey. Decima had won. Tomorrow by this time Harold would probably be dead. He was ready to sacrifice himself. He was finally ready to let Grace disappear from his life. What he wasn't ready to do was leave John Reese behind.

Harold spent years cultivating the trust between them. He spent endless hours listening to John's breath, to him communicating with their Numbers. It took patience to allow John distance to figure out their partnership. It took an immense amount of months to let John decide for himself what he wanted from their relationship.

Sometimes Harold could almost palpably feel the tension between them. If they would have just a bit more time maybe-

When he finally demanded John's answer with his heated words, there was only one certainty John gave him.

 _"We'll get her back."_

As if that was the thing Harold wanted to hear. As if Grace was the most important person in Harold's life. As if Harold wouldn't trade his life for anyone in danger in her place.

They were finally to the crux of their damage and Harold understood that the fault was his. Over those years Harold failed in one spectacular way. He did gain John's trust and loyalty, but Harold did a too good of a job to guard his heart and not show enough affection. John believed Harold still loved Grace.

As Harold sat on a sofa, watching John from the other side of the room, he felt helpless because he hurt the person he couldn't live without. He wounded John so deeply, that the younger man went back to his training and became a cold CIA operative.

* * *

When the sun started to rise on the horizon, Harold stood up from the sofa and went back to his bedroom to take a shower. Morning routine done, he placed his jacket on the bed, meticulously straightened every wrinkle and then finally got dressed.

A paper box with sprinkled doughnuts, coffee and Sencha Green tea lay on the table. Again, Harold's favorites. John went out and provided breakfast for them. Harold wasn't hungry, but it still allowed him to see what John tried to say, that he would always do his best for Harold's comfort.

"Thank you, John." Harold did his best to fill his voice with silence after his sentence was deafening. Past experiences showed Harold sometimes he needed to take a risk, so he walked slowly to the window after his- after John.

"John, I-" Harold hesitantly placed a hand on John's arm. All the dictionaries in the world couldn't provide him enough words. He needed to explain to John that the time they spent together helping people were the best years of his life. He wanted to speak about years of companionship with John that helped him heal after the Government took Nathan and Grace from him.

Harold wanted to apologize for all the wrongness he did at the beginning of their partnership. He should have trusted John more. He should have allowed John into his heart more easily. He should have told him how much the man meant to him.

"Don't worry. She will be fine."

Harold understood John's desire to be out of his reach as John expertly avoided Harold's eyes and went toward the table where his favorite guns lay. "I'm not worried about her. I worry-"

"Great! Food!" Sameen barged from her bedroom already dressed, took the coffee and started munching one doughnut after another. "You don't want any?" She raised her eyebrow at him in question.

 _-about you._ That's what Harold wanted to say. He was worried about John. About the distance between them. If he had only a few hours of his life, he didn't want to leave things between them unsaid.

"Miss Shaw!" Harold desperately raised his voice and hoped she would at least gave them a few minutes of privacy.

"We're leaving." John drawled quietly and then concealed a gun inside his waistband, took his coat and started for the door.

It was too sudden. Harold needed a few minutes, at least one minute, but Sameen was already helping him into his own coat. She placed a hat on his head, shoved a paper cup with his tea into Harold's hand and they were on their way.

Harold shook his head when Ms. Shaw offered him a box with doughnuts. He sipped his tea without a word. He tried to calculate how much he would change things, if he told John the truth before his departure. Would it change anything?

* * *

Harold made another unforgivable mistake when John took him to the side on the bridge and tried to reason with him and change his mind to not trade himself. He told John Grace was all that mattered, but he did it with the wrong words. He should have said an innocent life mattered more than his own because he saw the effect his words had. John hardened his stance even more.

"John-" Sometimes he should not be allowed to open his mouth in emotional or troublesome moments; he always chose the wrong words – words that hurt people the most, hurt John the most.

On the other side of a bridge cars arrived. They both could see Grace from the distance. One of the goons was dragging her from the car. Her high heels along with wearing a blindfold didn't help her keep balance.

Harold looked at John. He permitted himself a moment to take with him; this last image of the man that was most precious to him. Harold could read him easily now. Stormy eyes meant quiet fury. Stony expression hid his pain. _Oh John, I'm so sorry._

Harold slowly walked several meters away and stopped. He needed to be sure they would fulfill their part of an agreement and let Grace go. One of the man instructed her. She dutifully nodded and walked.

Harold did the same. He turned back for the last time. Sameen and Detective Fusco were standing by the car. John before them, but it wasn't helplessness Harold saw on the man he loved. This was a man with important mission.

"Keep yourself alive, Harold. I'll be coming for you." John drawled forcefully.

It wasn't a hollow promise. John Reese didn't give people false assurances and that thought scared Harold even more. John would go after him. He would do anything in his power to get to him. He wouldn't think about any consequences.

John would save him, or die trying.

* * *

"John!" Sameen pulled him towards her forcefully by the lapel of his coat. "Don't do anything stupid. Lionel and I will put her on a plane and we'll come after you. Do you understand me? You're not going on a suicidal mission. Are we clear?"

John nodded. She was very clear. His hearing was alright also, so yes, John understood. What he couldn't say out loud was that if there was a slight chance he could get Harold back through some element of surprise, he would take it.

"Don't let me hunt your ass down. Just stand by and wait for us. And quit that silent treatment, it's creeping me out."

John nodded again. He watched the car with Lionel, Shaw and Grace drive away. When they were finally out of sight, John used another car and sped through the city, intermittently keeping watch on his phone where Harold's tracker beeped. So far they were still on a road. That was good. It would start going downhill if they stopped.

John ignored the red lights and speed limits, carefully maneuvered through traffic with half of his mind on not causing a severe car crash. He pulled over at the high office building where the tracker stopped moving and Harold must be. It made sense for Greer to have a center of operation inside the city.

Would they expect him here that swiftly. That was the main question and John knew there was no other way than to find out.

John walked through the door, ignored the receptionist and kept going for a staircase. They probably knew he was inside the building. John broke down the protective glass of a box on the wall and then activated the fire alarm. Fewer civilians out, less people to kill.

John wasn't suicidal. He knew his odds. He knew his abilities, the horrors he was capable of. He wasn't even homicidal. The civilians were slowly evacuating the building through the elevators and main stairs, as John systematically went through one floor after another with a handgun and shot the bad guys left and right, and not in the kneecaps either.

So far he didn't see anyone with Harold, but he guessed they would have better security up where Harold was. This was only a few people.

* * *

Harold sat in a glass office with two armed guards by the door and John Greer in front of him. He didn't have enough wits about him to say anything other than thank you when Greer informed him Grace still didn't have any idea Harold was still alive. It was a surprisingly noble gesture Harold hadn't anticipated from his enemy.

"You do understand I have to use Ms. Hendricks under these circumstances, don't you, Mr. Finch?"

"I can hardly blame you for exploiting a vulnerability that should have been dealt with a long time ago. So yes. I do understand."

"Sentiment." Greer put a gun on the table that stood between them.

"I would rather call it the foolish attempt of a deluded man," Harold answered with a same level of calm. He wasn't scared. Not of the gun lying between them. Not for his life. He was only too aware of his surroundings. He would happily die if his death guaranteed John and the others would be safe, but John made a promise to him.

They both looked to the ceiling when fire alarm started blaring through the building.

"Your people?" Greer asked.

"I would rather hope not."

Greer looked at him without expression and Harold would love to say it wasn't John, but his shoulders dropped. He made sure to be aware of cameras and security in the building.

They didn't stand a chance against the reinforcements on each floor. John didn't stand a chance. And if he would by some miracle really get to Harold here, the police were already on their way and if John somehow saved him and they would find an exit from this horrible place, they would be both killed in front of the building anyway.

"Funny, how much loyalty you're inspiring, Mr. Finch."

It was meant to be as a mocking taunt, but Harold was done. At this point he would agree to anything just to save the people that were foolish enough to go after him. He held Greer's gaze without emotion, just as he had so years ago when he first encountered a paranoid ex-CIA agent, John Reese. The former spy who tried to guess Harold's intentions and hidden motives for everything.

Harold was glad he had all those years together with John. They led him to this moment. But, as much as he wanted to believe John was here, maybe it was only a ruckus to get him into the position to agree with everything Decima stood for.

"I will never help you with Samaritan."

"Pity. They all would have been alive you know. If you just agreed to be on my team."

The words of a snake. Just as Harold wanted to say that out loud, he heard the definite sounds of shots being fired somewhere close. Maybe another floor or stairs. His heart started to beat a million beats per minute. Hope. Maybe there was hope after all.

"Should they be allowed this close?" Harold couldn't mention John's name. He didn't want to gave the man in front of him the knowledge that in this world was a person who meant more to him than Grace.

"Boss."

Harold couldn't turn around to see what happened behind him, what Greer's bodyguards signaled to their employer. That's what their relationship to Greer was, they were just his hired muscle. It was never like that with Harold and John.

 _"Keep yourself alive, Harold. I'll be coming for you."_

"I'm afraid we have to continue our chat in a different place." Greer stood, held Harold at a gunpoint for the first time, gesturing for him to stand up and follow his guards.

"Security problem?" Harold deadpanned. He couldn't help himself. People always underestimated John Reese.

They didn't make it two steps from the office before the glass behind them shattered and they looked for the cause. The miniscule hesitation that brought their attention to John striding with a gun into their line of sight was enough of a delay. The bodyguard closer to Harold was dead with a shot in the middle of his forehead before anyone could react.

"Get down!"

Harold launched himself to the floor far away from both men. Through the years he had learned never to ignore John's orders in life threatening situations and obeyed without complaint.

John kept his steady approach, gun firing; the second man didn't have a chance to do anything more than keep Greer out of the line of fire and drag him to an exit door and another set of stairs. They were both firing after John, but the bullets only ended up in the walls and shattering glass. Harold was never so glad when John didn't look injured.

Harold let himself be manhandled to his feet by John, as he was slightly disoriented by the events. He watched John with wide eyes, momentarily breathless. He endured one cursory sweep of John's eyes over his body, but the man already had his attention on both sides of the staircases, watching for threats.

"You ok?" John drawled hoarsely.

"Yes," Harold whispered.

"Then we should go."

Harold watched him remove the gun from a dead man on the floor and secure it behind his waistband. John took his elbow and they went back same way John appeared.

"Stay behind me. Watch where you're going. Don't slip on the blood."

Harold shouldn't have been nervous, but John's words weren't inspiring that much confidence. He didn't risk saying a word to John. They could talk later, if they survived their descent. Harold could-

"Oh dear God." The silent prayer slipped from his mouth when he saw all the dead people on the stairs, blood spattered walls and bullet holes everywhere. Before he had a chance to even slightly understand what happened there, John guided him down a step, keeping a steady gait that Harold could easily match.

Harold held one hand on a railing and the other fisted into John's black suit jacket. He flinched every time John would have to shoot. He didn't want to peak in front of them, if his eyes needed to stray somewhere Harold focused on John's broad shoulders because that was much better than looking at this nightmare.

Harold jumped when the doors above their heads opened without warning, but John instinctively turned, shielded Harold's body and shot the man with ease. The wall was painted with blood and brain the next moment.

Harold stood in shock, no longer capable of movement, because he understood what he gave John and Ms. Shaw permission to do if Grace was harmed. This horror. This- They would both kill everyone, because he asked them to. It was true he didn't give John any specific instructions for extracting him, but it was still his fault.

All those people had their own lives, own loved ones. Some of them maybe didn't even have another choice in their employment and they were now dead. All of them. Because of him.

"Harold-"

His brain disconnected from his body as if a great bubble surrounded his person and the world was quiet. Eerily quiet. Except for his loud breathing. God, what did he do? Anyone of these men could have been John. The absolute terror that thought left in his brain rendered him speechless. If John wasn't careful enough, he could still be bleeding on a floor any second now.

"Harold-"

A warm palm on Harold's face snapped him back into his body and his tormented eyes searched for John's.

"Look at me. I'm sorry you have to see this, but I need you to stay here with me. One step at a time. We can't do anything else."

Harold nodded. He may have been terrified, but John sounded calm and collected like any other day. This was his job before Harold found him. People in charge of him ordered him to do exactly that. Harold never wanted to be in a position where he acted just like the CIA. He knew John never wanted to be used as a weapon again. Yet, here John stood as his guardian angel ready to kill anyone who would dare to harm him.

"I'm sorry, Harold."

Harold let himself be stirred down the stairs again. This time he didn't use a railing. He needed to touch John, because when they would finally descend, when they both would have a minute to breathe and think, Harold was sure John would leave him. This time for good.

* * *

John was furious with himself. His blood was raging inside his veins. He did a cursory sweep around the front lobby where the receptionist sat earlier, but most of the civilians were gathered in front of the building and waiting for the firefighters to check every office. When they did, they would only find slaughtered people everywhere.

He was a monster. Years and years he avoided situations where Harold could see him as the true monster he actually was. Now he only felt defeated because as much as he wanted to say he was sorry for every man he killed today: he just wasn't.

John peeked around the glass door, watching for the best exit strategy, but he didn't have to. A small figure in a black mask threw a smoke bomb onto the street from a speeding car. Shaw. He could rely on her and Lionel. They would be waiting close by, probably behind the next corner.

He carefully wound his free arm around Harold's back, silently thanking God the man didn't jump or run away screaming from him. Of course he only exaggerated the situation. Harold would never do that. The proud man never backed up from anyone.

"I need you to cover your mouth, look forward and not stop for anything. We're going out and to the right." John instructed him calmly, letting the smoke screen spread even more. Watching the positions of the armed guards in front of the building.

"Alright." Harold said meekly.

When they were on the street he led the older man to the car that waited for them and helped him get in. Lionel only huffed from the driver's seat and drove away without any word. Shaw turned to them from the front seat and ripped the mask off her face. Her anger was almost palpable.

"Something's wrong with your head!? I thought you said you heard me loud and clear," she hissed furiously.

"I did. It wasn't a suicide mission," John drawled slowly, forgetting for a minute he should not talk about more death in front of Harold. "And I'm talking." He added just to spite her.

"Is he dead?" Shaw wanted to know the most important thing. If John did his job right, he should have been proud of himself, but he wasn't.

"Greer got away," John averted his eyes so no one could see how much that bit of a failure pissed him off. He should have killed Greer when he had the chance, but he wanted to save Harold from that chaos even more.

"Well, next time." Shaw shrugged her shoulders. John saw her giving Harold a onceover. "Good to have you back, Finch. Did they give you a warm welcome?"

"Now is hardly a time for joking, Ms. Shaw." Harold admonished her imperially.

John couldn't help himself, the corner of his mouth lifted in a small smile but his good mood was gone the next second because he remembered why it wasn't a good time. Harold saw all those _slaughtered_ people. Sure, some people may call it dead people, but in John's opinion nobody without years of experience with CIA operations should go up against him in the field because it wasn't a fair fight then. Not when John had a gun. Not when they took someone from John.

"How much blood did you lose?"

What the hell?

"Harold?" John turned so quickly, his neck protested. His heart beat like scared rabbit. He made sure Harold wasn't hurt. He looked at him. Harold told him he wasn't injured. Did he miss something?

But all eyes were turned to him instead of Harold. John inspected himself. Somewhere along the way his jacket slid open and revealed a slowly spreading red stain. John fingered the material. Yeah, it burned a bit. It obviously wasn't anything life threatening. "Just a scratch, I don't even feel it."

"John!" Harold wasn't happy.

And look at that, before John could even think about his answer and reassure him, the older man was casually opening his shirt. By the angle they both sat, it wouldn't be very comfortable for his neck.

John was momentarily distracted because Lionel sped up the car. "Lionel, what is it?"

"We picked up a tale. Hold on tight, I'm going to get rid of them." John would have been much happier if Shaw was behind the wheel, but he had to trust Lionel. He was still a capable cop and he had their back for years.

Lionel took the corner far too quickly and John winced.

"Sss." Not that he was a big baby, but thanks to their speed Harold lost his momentum and had clinched to John's side to not topple over. Normally that wouldn't be a problem either, but the grazed skin really burned.

"How is it looking, Finch?" Sameen held on tight to the door handle.

"I still can't see it." Harold mumbled. He tried to reign in his accusatory tone, but all of them could hear it.

Another sharp corner. John took Harold's coat in both hands just to be sure he won't crash into the side window head first and aggravate his neck. Harold almost kneeled beside John.

"Harold?"

Sameen sure as hell wasn't impatient _at all_.

"I'm trying, Ms. Shaw."

John poked his head around Harold's shoulder. Red light. "Hold on, Harold." This time John put his hand on Lionel's seat and supported the older man's side. He could almost hear the wheels turning in Lionel's head. And yes. Of course he went and cut that corner, almost making them crash into the parked delivery truck.

John drew a deep breath when Harold's fingers finally touched his naked skin and gently pulled on the wound.

"Superficial, Ms. Shaw."

Harold reported dutifully to Shaw, but then yelped when he was catapulted into John's body. John felt him clutch to the lapels of his jacket just to avoid causing him any more pain in his lower region. That resulted only in an awkward moment when Harold's face was smashed into John's neck.

"Harold?" John whispered carefully. It wasn't normal that he would stay still like that. Not in a position like this. "Harold?" he repeated with concern.

"Sorry, people. We're clear." Lionel grinned smugly into the rearview mirror. "What the hell are you two doing there?"

John didn't want to put his hands on Harold. Not when Harold saw him kill so many people, but he had to at least try to help him sit back. He slowly put pressure on Harold's side, but in that moment he heard the small whimper of pain.

"Stop the car!" John ordered immediately.

"It's nothing."

Harold breathed the words into John's neck and John tried his best to suppress the shiver. He felt Harold trying several times to contort his back and hip into a position that would not hurt him and back from John but in a speeding car, it was almost impossible.

"Lionel, don't make me shoot you and stop the damn car for five seconds!"

"For God's sake don't be such a drama queen!"

John felt the slamming on the breaks in his whole body and only hoped it wouldn't make Harold worse. "Talk to me," he whispered tightly. "Tell me what to do?"

"Now what?" Lionel looked behind himself angrily.

John ignored him. "What do you need? How can I help?" They were finally no longer moving, but it took Harold a while to even fractionally put a weight on his forearms and pull away. John had his hands on Harold's hips cautiously waiting for another wince of pain or other signs of distress.

When the older man sat beside him, John could see the sweat around Harold's hairline. He was pretty sure it wouldn't be from air conditioning. John's thoughts went back to the entire day. Harold has been gone doing God knows what for almost two days and today John made him ascend six flights of stairs. No wonder he was in pain.

"We are both alright, Detective. We can go now."

John ignored Sameen's fuming nostrils, which meant she's furious but keeping herself under control most of the time because of Harold. John classified her every move a long time ago. He was pretty sure he was going to hear an earful the moment they got to the safe house. That much was clear.

On one hand he had a good excuse. Thanks to the adrenaline he didn't feel his injury. He only wanted to get Harold back, so she had to cut him some slack. On the other hand there was still the important thing that maybe John won't be with them that long. He needed a bit more space than being cramped into the small apartment with Harold, Shaw and Lionel. That wasn't a very nice future he wanted to be a part of.

John needed a quiet place, where he could forget Harold's panic attack on the stairs. Harold had every right to be entitled to his feelings.

"Thank you." Harold whispered beside him when they were in motion again. John would feel better if he knew what exactly what Harold thanking him for. Helping him sit down a moment ago? Getting him out of Greer's hands? Killing for him?

Yeah, that was the problem. John killed all those people for Harold. He would do it again in a heartbeat. He would kill a lot more people just to get him back. One of the things John was sure Harold didn't want John to say.

* * *

Harold was never more grateful to Detective Fusco as when they finally stopped before the address Ms. Shaw directed him to. Harold didn't recognize the apartment. It was probably one of the safe spots she knew from her days as a free operative.

Harold winced again with a first step toward the building. He hoped it had at least an elevator if they were on a higher floor. He saw enough stairs for one day. After they entered the apartment complex, Harold's hopes were long gone. No such luck.

"Come on." John drawled near him. He gently took Harold's elbow and they both followed after Detective Fusco and Sameen. His hips protested with every step. The last time he felt his over-used muscles this badly was when Harold took the stairs to John who waited on a rooftop with a bomb strapped to his body.

"Just a few more." John encouraged him calmly without any shortness of breath. Harold envied him his physical condition. He felt bone tired, exhausted and emotionally wrung out. With every step they neared the apartment, Harold was closer to losing John. He finally stopped on the floor and turned to John.

"Are you alright?" John asked when he did.

John's concern was touching, but he couldn't let himself be distracted. "John, please, don't leave." And Harold knew he said the right words, because John's body went taunt. John was ready to leave them in the apartment.

"Harold-"

"No," he interrupted him gently. "I know I gave you a promise a long time ago that I will never use you as a weapon. I am deeply sorry for what you had to endure today. You were injured no less, but I wouldn't-"

"What are you talking about?"

It looked like John was confused, so Harold certainly had to clarify his point. "I know you hate killing people and today's circumstances made you do it because of me-"

"Harold."

Harold took a deep breath when John stepped closer to him. He could smell John's cologne again, just as he had in the car. Harold would recognize that scent everywhere. He had spent a certain amount of time in a shop choosing it as a gift when he gave John his apartment.

Harold had fallen in love with that scent the moment he had first smelled it. Lemon, bergamot, cedar, saffron - _Versace Man_. He knew it would be ideal for John. What he couldn't anticipate was his response to it. The idea of John wearing the cologne Harold hand-picked talked to him on some primal level. He wanted to get lost in that smell.

"I don't care how many people I have to kill in order to get to you."

John looked at him so earnestly Harold's breath caught in his lungs. "Then don't leave," he repeated, but he could see his attempts were futile. Once John made up his mind, it wasn't in anyone's power to change it back.

"I have to." John's shoulders slumped.

"Surely you must know-" Harold swallowed nervously. How could he change John's mind? "John, you came for me. I don't want to imagine my life without you. I lost you twice already."

"I can't be near you. Don't you understand? Harold, you saw what happened. You had a panic attack because of all the dead-"

"It had nothing to do with you!" Harold firmly interrupted John's sentence. "I wasn't scared of you. I have never been scared of you and I most certainly refuse to even entertain the thought I would ever be scared by you."

That was a truth Harold could firmly stand behind. "From the moment I met you, you have repeatedly tried to show me that you are some kind of monster, which you most certainly are not!"

Harold was surprised John didn't break their long gaze or the heavy silence, so he decided to continue. "John," he put a palm on John's pectoral muscle feeling it contracting under his hand. "I have never met a more compassionate, gentle and caring person."

Harold knew he had to clarify a bit more. "I had a moment of slight discomfort, because I realized what I gave you a permission to do if they hurt Grace. I should have never said those words. No matter the circumstances we are aspiring to be better than them. We won't kill every person who happened to cross our way. That's not how we operate. That won't ever be our policy."

* * *

John involuntarily stepped back with the mention of Harold's ex-fiancé's name. Sometime throughout their conversation he had made himself lean closer to Harold than he should have been. Bad move. Very stupid on his part.

"-I have to apologize for that, John."

John lost the thread of their conversation for a moment, but his mind snapped back with his name. Before he could explain to Harold that he would never hold Harold giving that order over his head, Shaw appeared beside them.

"Are you kidding me? We're trying to keep our lives secret and you have time for a cosy chat on the stairs?" She hissed angrily and John understood her point a bit. It wasn't the best plan of action. Anyone in their proximity could hear them.

"Ms. Shaw!" Harold raised his voice; John knew they were all in trouble. That frustrated tone was a very sure sign of bad times ahead. Harold prided himself to be in control of his emotions and he usually didn't allow things to get under his skin. When those situations occurred it meant Harold was at the end of his seemingly never ending patience.

"Could you at least give us two minutes of privacy?!"

John internally winced, because Shaw was not a woman who would tolerate that kind of tone easily. He decided to step in before they cause a scene for their new neighbors.

"Harold, calm down," John said placatingly as he put a calming palm on Harold's shoulder. He was surprised when in the next second Harold reached out to grab the hem of his suit jacket holding it in both hands.

"I most certainly won't calm down when one single wrong word coming out of my mouth would result in you leaving me again!" Harold snapped back.

The pregnant pause after that admission made John tighten his lips. Of course it was his fault Harold felt nervous.

Shaw huffed and left them, but Harold's outburst had different consequences. The doors at the end of the hallway had opened with someone checking out their situation. They couldn't risk people calling the police for a disturbance.

"Come on," John mumbled, taking Harold's elbow gently and leading him to their new bolt hole. John's plan to leave had been momentarily forgotten.

John ignored Lionel excusing himself to go home to his son. He glared steadily at Sameen and dared her to say a word.

"Treat that wound before you catch infection," Shaw growled angrily. "I'm not helping you."

John wanted to strangle her on the spot. Instead he kept his homicidal tendencies to himself and went to the bathroom. Maybe that would give them enough time. Enough time for Harold to cool down a bit and hopefully they would do a better job at having a normal conversation.

John undressed, taking off his jacket and white shirt; it was ruined anyway. He opened the first aid kit, took out the bottle of rubbing alcohol and was thinking about pouring the solution over his wound when Harold stepped in with an exasperated sigh.

John knew what would follow. Without any word Harold simply took the small bottle out of his hand and poured the alcohol into a wash basin. He soaked a clean washcloth under the faucet and carefully cleaned all the blood away.

John expected the water to be cold, some kind of punishment, but Harold would never stoop so low. He was as gentle and caring as John remembered him being from all their years together. John started to gradually relax with every move of Harold's hands. His shoulders loosened.

Harold soaked a pad of gauze with rubbing alcohol. "This will sting," he warned John softly, then proceeded with a second round of cleansing. This time was more painful, but John held still. He knew the drill.

John's battle wound had been covered with a solid layer of antibacterial cream and a pretty new bandage over that. The silence between them was even more unnerving when Harold just stood there with a hand still on John's torso and didn't make a move to go away.

John could faintly feel Harold's breath on his naked skin.

"Do you remember when you left for the first time?" Harold asked quietly

Harold's voiced his question so softly that John had to strain his ears to hear the words.. John swallowed hard. He certainly remembered, but at the moment his concentration was on Harold's fingers as they caressed his skin below the wound. John's muscles contracted because he had no defense against those sensations.

"After they had killed Joss you disappeared to hunt down the HR members and Simmons. You think I never found out what you did?" Harold pinned him to the spot with his eyes. John couldn't look away.

"I held you in my arms when you had collapsed to the floor no longer able to stand because of the blood loss. I would have happily given up my life for Joss."

"Don't say that," John drawled nervously with a lump in his throat.

"And then you left me for the second time once you healed. You said your goodbyes, bought a ticket and left the States. I didn't know what to do then."

John really didn't want to hear this. Especially when Harold's eyes were slowly filling with tears.

"I would have given you anything. At any other time through the years you would have only had to ask and it would be yours, including your freedom. Only I couldn't let you go when you grieved. We both know how tragically that would have ended."

The second hand Harold placed on John's naked side made John close his eyes and breath out harshly. Maybe he wasn't in control of the situation as much as he would like. He couldn't believe this conversation was even happening.

"Here we are again," Harold continued. "I am asking you to stay for the third time. No." Harold corrected himself quickly. "I am pleading with you to stay with me. Or if you have to go, it has to be for a different reason. Look at me, John! Am I looking at you as if you were a monster?"

John's exhales were too loud to his ears. For the first time he was scared of what he would see in Harold's eyes. He held still when one of Harold's hands left his abdomen and carefully framed his cheek as if Harold was scared that any contact between them would send John running.

"I'm not going anywhere." Harold said softly.

John took a deep breath because he knew Harold would wait him out. That was the thing Harold had always done. He left John enough time to make up his mind. When John felt ready, he opened his eyes then.

John knew Harold had kind eyes full of understanding, but he never saw them looking at him with so much love and sadness. Harold's sadness John understood, he lost Grace again. This time probably forever. But love?

John instinctively averted his gaze because he was wrong. He projected his own feelings- "I need to go." He wanted to side step the older man, but damn Harold and John's own predictability. Of course Harold had to stand in his path and this time Harold restrained him with a palm on John's chest. John really didn't want to hurt him by plowing into him, so he just stood still.

"Look at me," Harold urged him.

"Harold-"

"You're not even trying, John." Harold told him with affection in his voice.

How could that be? It was not possible. John had done so many despicable things as a soldier and then as a CIA operative. After Harold found him, even from the beginning, John had taken decisions into his own hands on several cases. He had made people disappear sometimes because John didn't want them to hurt anyone else ever again.

John in his long career had killed people. He had tortured people. He had left some people who helped Simmons to die even though those men hadn't done anything to him personally. True, they weren't exactly stellar pillars of society, but John still made them collateral damage. And at the end of that hunt he had left Harold alone when the billionaire grieved for yet another of his friends: this time it was Joss.

How could such a good of person as Harold - who had fallen in love with the purest and kindest of souls like Grace Hendricks - care about a monster like John Reese?

"Sometimes the truth is just there for you to see, John. You just have to believe in it."

Damn Harold and that smooth, persuasive voice of his. John scowled at him, but it didn't faze the other man at all. Harold stood calmly with a hopeful smile on his lips. The longer John looked at Harold, the harder it was for him to believe his own lies.

If any other person had ever looked at him like Harold was now, John would already be kissing them. Great. Now that the thought had occurred, it wasn't going away. John's eyes involuntarily slid to Harold's lips and quickly back. What the hell was wrong with him? This was Finch!

All John's thoughts scattered when he saw Harold unconsciously wet his lips. John's heart skipped a beat and his stomach fluttered. "Harold?" he whispered questioningly. Was it possible to be on the same page? Had Harold thought about kissing him?

"I really thought you wouldn't get there." Harold replied softly, amusement permeating his voice.

John blinked in confusion. "But Grace-"

"She is very dear to me. A part of me will always love Grace, but I can easily spend my life without her knowing she's somewhere safe. You are the person I don't want to imagine my life without."

John hadn't moved when Harold's fingers cupped his cheek again. This time a thumb caressed John's lower lip and his breath halted. "Harold." He murmured his warning.

"You're not scaring me this time either. Trust me, John. I won't let you down."

That was the last thing on John's mind. He would never hesitate to put his life into Harold's hands. He would never be more safe. But trusting someone again with his heart?

Harold's fingers slipped to the back of John's neck and slowly brought his face closer. John let him. He couldn't decide between taking the initiative or being passive. There had to be a moment when Harold would hesitate and finally come back to his senses. This couldn't be happening. It was just not possible. Things like that - getting something he was dreaming of for such a long time - wouldn't happen to John.

"Sorry to interrupt this disturbingly inappropriate moment, but are you two done?" Shaw appeared in a door frame.

John almost jumped out of his skin. No one had caught him off guard for several years. Before his heart had a chance to restart its beating into normal rhythm he heard Harold chuckle. It wasn't that funny. John would have been offended if it wasn't so good to hear Harold laugh. He really couldn't remember the last time the older man had looked so happy.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Shaw, for occupying the bathroom for so long." Harold smiled at her and headed towards the living room. That left John as the only person who Shaw could angrily glare at.

"I'm injured," John told her innocently.

"Oh you _**will**_ be injured when I'm done with you," she assured him threateningly. "Now get the hell out of here."

John heard the loud banging of the bathroom door being shut behind him. He didn't want to do anything childish like smile. That was below him. His eyes searched for Harold's. The older man still looked happier than John had ever seen him.

"Maybe we should postpone our conversation for another time. Our priority should be finding some suitable working space. We can't- Oh!"

John hadn't heard Harold's suggestion. He stalked closer and captured Harold's lips in a gentle kiss. He made sure his palm supported Harold's neck as he slowly drew Harold's body onto his chest. That was enough for Harold to recover from the shock of John's actions. He held onto John's arms and started kissing John back with equal tenderness.

As much as John wanted to enjoy kissing Harold for several long minutes more, he was still aware of Shaw in the bathroom. He reluctantly pulled back. "Sorry," John whispered apologetically.

"You're right." Harold smiled at him warmly and nodded with understanding. "We need a more private place."

John knew Harold would try to escape from his embrace, but he still held Harold to him when Harold made his move. It earned him the rising of one of Harold's eyebrows in question.

"John?"

"You should know by now that I will follow you anywhere," John told him with a small smile. He felt smug because he had made Harold look at him this happily. It was all John's doing.

Harold winked at him playfully. "Let's just focus on our first goal, shall we? Finding private quarters without Ms. Shaw to interrupt. And in the future we should both stay out of harm's way. What do you say, John? Is this a plan you could agree with?"

"With you as a mastermind? Always, Finch." John winked back.

 **THE END**


End file.
